"Oh," said Vesty, pleased and enlightened. "But major knows," she added promptly, "about the spelling."
"I have your word, you see, Vesty," I said. "'S-e-p-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n.'"
I had it spread out proudly on the table. She looked at me and blushed again. I smiled, only as I would at a priceless child.
"You are cute at guessin', major," said Miss Pray admiringly; but I saw that she held me deficient in the classical prearrangement of words, and that the game had lost interest to her on that account. So we laid it by.
When Vesty rose to go home, "I will go with you," I said, wrapping my sad little presence in an overcoat.
Miss Pray looked as she had when she asked me if I was rebellious.
But Vesty said quickly: "I wish you would. I am so afraid in the dark!"
Afraid in the dark! Not she; but this was some ointment for that unconscious thrust Miss Pray had given.
I walked home with her. Coming back, there was ever a slight crackling in the bushes and stealthy breathing behind me. It was the lad, Jimmy Kirtland, sent by Vesty surreptitiously to see that I arrived safely at Miss Pray's.
I regarded sacredly this innocent device, but, arrived in the house, I heard Jimmy outside pleading cautiously to Miss Pray through the window that he was afraid to go back alone.